


The Art of Translation

by darkmagess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagess/pseuds/darkmagess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Reaction to 6x20.) They can still fix this thing, still save everyone, if they can just learn to communicate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scene 1

"Rise and shine, kids!"

Dean jolted awake from a dead sleep and grabbed the pistol under his pillow. He tossed off his sheets and raised his gun in one swift move, reacting before he could blink the sleep from his eyes. His pulse thundered in his head with the sharp thrill of panic. _Who? What?_

Balthazar tossed open the heavy curtains of the motel room, flooding the place with a painfully brilliant light. "We're going on a field trip," he announced.

Dean shielded his eyes from the glare of the morning sun with his free hand and tried to aim at the center of the angel's silhouette. The pounding of his blood slowed, and in place of panic, annoyance gouged a scowl across his face. He glanced at Sam, who lay flat on his bed like he was sleeping, except for the pistol raised in his right hand.

Balthazar sighed, his gaze intent on Dean. "Put that thing away. I _like_ this shirt."

Sam slid himself off the side of the bed closest to his brother, keeping his gun raised. "What the hell, Balthazar," he growled.

Dean's eyes adjusted and he returned the angel's gaze for a second before he lowered his gun and set it on the side table, suddenly weary. Sam glanced at him once and then dropped from the ready stance he'd been in, letting the gun hang at his side.

"Cas send you?" Dean asked, dejection heavy in his tone. To his surprise, Balthazar rolled his eyes and looked offended.

"No. I find myself in your… charming hovel… because unlike you nitwits, I have a highly developed sense of self-preservation."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"And anyway, he's in Heaven sobbing in his Cheerios, waiting for a sign from God."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "And?"

Balthazar offered a deadpan look. "What do you think."

Dean’s bed bounced a little as Sam sat down, and Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "So this is about Raphael?"

Balthazar quirked an eyebrow at him and paced around Sam's bed. "About Raphael?" he feigned a surprise that quickly slapped into anger. "Of course this is about Raphael. It's all about Raphael. _Everything_ is about Raphael! The problem is that you two apes continue, surprisingly, _shockingly_ , to fail to properly grasp the gravity of the situation. And this, by the way, is how television rots your brain. So... 'visual learners,' we're taking a trip."

"But--"

"You might want pants," Balthazar raked his gaze over them, keeping his expression hovering between annoyed and amused. Dean felt a sudden flash of heat across his face and shoved at Sam to get moving. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and struggled between putting them on and glaring angrily in the angel's direction. Balthazar crossed his arms impatiently, glaring at them both.

"Look, we get it, okay?" Sam was saying, doing up his fly. "Raphael bad."

"No!" Balthazar's anger flared, and he flapped himself instantly into Sam's space, nearly knocking him over as their noses almost touched. "No, you don't get it. This is life and death, children. For you. For me. For everyone. It's the end of _everything_. That's what's staring you in the face, while you whine about betrayal, and _oh, my heart, it hurts_ ," he mocked, and then swung around to advance on Dean. "You might just be the most self-involved human on this planet. But your _feelings_ , God help us,are the difference between a future and annihilation."

Dean scowled and inched his way along the edge of the bed to get out from under the angel's stare. His feelings? Well then they were all doomed, because he hadn't felt anything but raw, wounded, and angry since Cas showed up to tell him that this whole mess was his fault somehow. It churned and ached in his chest. He lifted a glare to Balthazar's eyes. "My feelings about what?"

The angel's eyes narrowed. "You're stupid, I'll grant. But you're not that stupid."

 _Cas..._

Dean averted his eyes, and Balthazar seemed to take that as his cue.

"Good. Now--"

"Where are we going?" Sam cut in.

"Stand together," the angel said, ignoring him and herding him in Dean's direction. Sam scowled and looked at his brother uncertainly as he shuffled into line.

"Answer him," Dean said, voice rough.

Balthazar stared and then swaggered a little closer, a cool, amused glint in his eyes. "I’m sorry, what was that? Did you miss the memo? Because I’m a free bitch, baby. And you would have to ask me _very_ nicely…"

Dean felt his gaze sink into him, sliding to his spine. He swallowed and looked away, breaking off the violation before it went further.

Balthazar smirked and stepped back, giving him space to breathe. "We're going to three weeks from now," the angel replied matter-of-factly, his manner shifting like lightning. "I'd take your further, but... after that I'm dead. It's the day that Raphael gets his wish. Hand inside the bus, kids, and I _do_ hope you enjoy the show."

He reached out and touched their foreheads, and Dean felt everything shift.

 

***

 

They were--

"This is Bobby's," Dean said, as his body adjusted to the sudden displacement.

Balthazar turned a sharp look his way. "Shut up and watch."

Sam piped up. "But why are we--"

"I said _Shut. Up_. This is the end of the world. Show some respect." His voice was clipped and quiet as he went on. "In a moment, Raphael will open the pit, releasing Lucifer and Michael. And then... well..." He looked out at the horizon.

Dean followed his gaze, frowning. Seemed like a nice day to him. Middle of spring, blue sky, white clouds. The air smelled like iron from the rust and vegetation from the farmland coming into season. "How will we know when--"

Thunder cut him off. Except it kept rolling, growing, gathering like an ocean wave of sound.

The earth jolted, and Dean fell onto one knee as the ground heaved beneath him. Stacks of skeletal cars on either side of them groaned and shook, scraping metal on metal like screaming. Dean looked at his brother, crouched in the dust beside him. Sam's eyes were wide, and he surveyed the heaps of junk around them for danger. Dean stared up at Balthazar. The angel stood stock still, perfectly unmoved. "Earthquake?" Dean asked.

Balthazar turned his head and looked down at him. "For a start." And then he motioned to the horizon, which there was more of in South Dakota than almost anywhere else.

Dean grasped Sam's arm, and they rose together as the plate tectonics took a breather. He looked out at the horizon and stepped toward it, like a few feet could make the difference between whatever he was supposed to see and blindness. He felt Sam come to his elbow. "I don't--"

And then he did. Cold horror poured over his head, dripped down the backs of his legs. White blades of light pierced through the clouds, just fell down from the sky, and left mushrooms of red and black smoke in their wake. First just a few, one there at the edge of the sky. Then another. Dean's heart kicked up, so hard, so fast his fingertips throbbed with it. A dozen landed. A hundred. Silent and swift, they hit, hit, hit. "What is that?" he asked, barely speaking.

Balthazar came closer and looked over at him steadily, waiting until Dean turned his questioning gaze toward him. "That," he said, "is the Wrath of God. Raphael's will."

Sam spun in a circle, his breathing growing quicker as more bolts hit the ground, more dirt and fire filled the air. But no sound. No explosions, just a silent film of fire. "But he's destroying--"

"Everything," the angel finished for him, looking grim. He looked them both in the eyes for a moment and then glanced over as the door to Bobby's house opened and slapped closed. Dean three weeks hence came running out of the building, followed by Sam and Bobby.

Balthazar gripped both boys quickly on the arm. "You are here to watch. They cannot see you. You cannot stop it."

Dean shrugged off his grip and stared as Future Him paused to look at the destruction. Finally, finally, roars from the explosions started to carry across the lot. They came from all directions, blending together into a hum like heavy tires on the road. The air growled, shook, vibrated with the echo of power. The other them shouted over the impossible din, pointing, and Dean's eyes flicked to the front door of the house. A suited man stalked out of it. Followed by another. And another. Angels.

Dean started forward, but Balthazar grabbed his arm again. "Let me go!" he shouted, struggling like a caught fish. Balthazar held him, an immovable object, as angels poured from the house like copies from _The Matrix_ , gushed from its maw like demon smoke. Future Dean turned and started to run for the garage, but a squad of black-suited thugs appeared from nothing. He stumbled to a halt and backed up, looking for another route.

With rising terror, Dean watched himself being surrounded. He was weaponless. They both were. This couldn't happen. He couldn't _let_ this happen! He turned and glanced back at Balthazar, leaning all his weight against the angel's grip. Balthazar's face was stony, and his gaze was set on the tableau. Sam was watching his own future self scrawling something in the dirt. Dean's heart beat panic. So many suits, too many.

"Dean!"

He jerked, blinked, and Cas was standing in front of him, calling out to the man surrounded.

The angels all stopped and turned their heads in unison to stare at Castiel. Cas clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. Dean could see him counting the odds, and for a second the wound in his chest swelled with pride, with hope. Balthazar's hold on Dean's arm relaxed, and he darted forward so he could see Cas's face. If he harbored fear, he didn't show it.

The door to Bobby's house swung open on its own, and that warm feeling in Dean's chest withered as Raphael stepped out. He looked at his troops, twenty angels to a man and slowly grinned. "Will you kneel, Castiel?" he bellowed from the porch, his voice carrying with the thrum of an angel's power.

"Cas, don't!" Dean's other self cried.

Dean watched Cas angle a long look toward that cry, something subtle, sad, and dear passing over his expression, and then square himself against his brother. "We will fight you," he rumbled.

And that was his Cas. "Yes!" Dean shouted, not sure if their future selves could hear him.

Raphael shook his head slowly.

With a great whumph of flapping wings, the number of angels at Bobby's lot doubled, and with seemingly no signal from either side, the fighting began.

If you could call it fighting.

Raphael appeared in front of Cas and knocked the angel blade from his hand with ease. Cas grabbed his wrist and stumbled back a step, while Dean's eyes widened in sudden, sure dread. "Cas!" He started to rush for him, and then found himself on his knees, unable to move. Rage blasted through his body. Angel tricks. "Balthazar! You son of a bitch!"

The angel in question knelt suddenly next to him, speaking into his ear. "I told you, no interfering, pet."

Dean seethed and struggled, trying to make his limbs move. "Let. Me. Go!" He bucked with each word and panted helplessly as Raphael forced Cas further back into the junkyard. Future Dean was somewhere over Dean's shoulder. _You better be fighting_ , Dean thought. He couldn't look, couldn't have seen if he tried. He didn't try. He pushed against whatever force held him and strained in Castiel's direction, as Raphael toyed with him.

Cas took a swing with his uninjured hand. Raphael brushed it aside, and then beat him across the face with a fist that radiated white light. Dean's stomach lurched as Cas hit the ground, hard, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. He convulsed. __

"Cas!" Dean bellowed and tried to lean forward, get closer. Not good. _Not good_. "Cas!" Dean scrambled for air, panting the more he struggled.

Raphael bent and grabbed Castiel by the hair, hauling him up to his knees. Cas gasped and glared up at him, managing to cough blood onto the archangel's clean suit. Raphael smiled down at him and then turned both their heads toward one of the masses of black suits, bubbling with violence. Bright flashes lit the sky as angels from both sides died. Dean couldn't see his future self in the fray, couldn't see how many he'd managed to take down with him. What he could see was Castiel's face. The sudden flash of his eyes when he saw his Dean among the combatants. "No," Cas mouthed, and started to struggle against the archangel's grip. He pushed, he kicked, hell, he _clawed_ , sending shocks of grace at Raphael's hands. Impossibly wide eyes stayed locked just over Dean's shoulder. Cas panted as he wrung himself, trying to reach, to move. "Dean!" he heaved. "Dean!!!"

Then, he stopped. Froze.

Dean blinked at him and could not tear his eyes away. He knew. Part of him knew just then what had happened and shoved the away.

Castiel's eyes fell shut, and he sagged, his whole body sinking in lifeless surrender. The only thing holding him from the dirt was Raphael's hand fisted in his hair. It lasted a second of forever, Dean barely breathing, his blood rushing so loud in his ears, Cas sprawled limp in the dust, blood falling drop by drop from his chin. When Cas opened his eyes again to look at his brother, tears slid down each cheek.

Dean's ribs hurt, his face hurt. Panic rushed over his skin, a sharp chill and then a burn. Cas wasn't fighting. Why wasn't he fighting? "Cas!" His cry came out choked.

Raphael slid an angel blade out of his sleeve and held it up to Castiel's chin. Cas blinked back at him dumbly. "Nothing to say to me, Castiel?" Cas turned his head just enough to see out onto the killing field. Where his gaze landed, it stayed, as though Raphael did not stand over him. Did not hold a blade to his throat. As though there were nothing else in the universe to divide his attention.

The archangel snorted. "Pathetic."

Dean felt a shriek rising. This couldn't-- This wasn't-- "Castiel! Cas, no! Cas!!"

Raphael thrust the blade home, through Cas's neck and out the back, with no resistance. White light flashed within Cas's vessel for a second, and as Raphael let the body drop onto the ground, the shadow of wings burned across the dirt.

It took Dean a second to realize the howling sound was coming from him. He pushed against whatever spell Balthazar had over him until his bones would break. Heat and horror and loss made the world spin as he struggled. And then suddenly he was free, falling face first onto the ground. Dean scrambled to Cas's side, his face hot and wet with tears. _Cas. Cas._ He put a trembling hand on his chest, just to touch him, and shook his head. He couldn't-- How could he just-- Dean heaved a breath and looked up in the direction Cas had been staring.

Future Him lay in the dust, a silver blade jutting from his throat, pinning him to the earth.

Dean swallowed and touched his own throat. Then jerked his gaze away to the rest of the field gone quiet. Suited bodies littered the ground. Shaking, Dean pushed himself to his feet but couldn't make himself take a step closer. The angels had pinned Sam to the earth through the chest. Where he was sure Bobby had once been, there was a wide spray of gore. Raphael's angels stood watching their leader as he mounted the stairs to Bobby's porch.

"We'd better go." Dean jumped at the sudden sound of Balthazar's voice in his ear.

"What?"

The angel pointed skyward as Raphael spread his arms wide. "Wrath of God," he said simply.

Dean looked down at Castiel's body, his blue eyes open and dull with death. He nodded.

 

***

 

It was a good thing Balthazar brought them right back where they started. Dean's knees wobbled, and he dropped onto the bed heavily. Cas... Sam... Bobby...

He heard Sam drop onto the edge of his own bed and sigh.

Dean looked up to see Balthazar studying him intently. "He gave up," he said, voice thick and hoarse from screaming. _Because of me,_ he didn't add. But that was clear enough. He saw it in Cas's eyes the moment his future self died.

Balthazar's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I suppose he did."

The air was difficult to breathe, and Dean tried to calculate just what that meant. Cas had said it twice now. _"I did it, all of it, for you."_

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Dean heard him take an unsteady and clear his throat. "Is that really what happens?" Sam asked, and Dean lifted his head enough to focus on his brother.

Balthazar crossed his arms and looked down at him. "It's one possible future, yes."

 _Possible?_ Anger flared in Dean's chest. "So you just made that up, then. Chose the worst one to show us." So like an angel.

Balthazar glared at him. "It is a _possible_ future. One in which we lose to Raphael, which did seem, if you'll pardon me, the most pertinent. And unless you imbiciles change something, that's about how it will go. Maybe not at Bobby Singer's Junkyard. Maybe you'll be at the beach. Or in bed. Does it matter?"

Dean wasn't sure it did. And a look at Sam confirmed that he didn't think it did either.

Balthazar gazed at them both. "Excellent. Now, as amusing as this has been, there's a whorehouse in Italy with my name on it. Tick-tock, boys."

And he was gone. Dean stared for a second at the empty space where the world's dirtiest angel had stood and then shifted his gaze to his brother. Sam wore the Face of Perpetual Worry. "It could be a trick," he offered, not sounding convinced.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Could be. Doubt it, though." Castiel screaming his name echoed in his memory. His skin ached. He rubbed his hands together for a while, studying the floor and feeling Sam's eyes on him. Everything. Everybody. Always on him. Dean jerked to his feet. "I'm heading out," he said, not looking at Sam.

"O-kay... where?" Sam replied, not moving to follow.

Dean grabbed his jacket from the chair and started packing his things into his duffel bag. "You should have Bobby come get you."

"I what? Dean. Where are you going?"

He heard Sam stand and come closer and glanced over his shoulder. "Bainbridge, Ohio."

"That's... Isn't that the town where Samhain--"

"Yeah." Dean cut him off, zipped up the bag, and hefted it to his shoulder. He turned to confront Sam's confused face.

"Why there?"

Dean thought for a second about explaining. But there were some things... some things that were okay to keep personal. "Cause. Just, look, call Bobby, all right?"

"Dean."

He turned and headed for the door. "I'll be fine, Sammy."

"Dean!"

He shut the door on his brother's exasperated sigh and headed for the car. There were a lot of miles to cover, and apparently not a lot of time.

 

 


	2. Scene 2

He and his baby ate up the road. They had to, because this idea that Dean had? It was the right thing. The _only_ right thing, his gut told him. Like...poetic, but not the Lorax kind. He only stopped for fuel, eating drive-through and catching a few hours of sleep pulled off on the shoulder of the highway. As trees whipped passed the window doing 90, he looked out toward the horizon and couldn't help but picture columns of pure white light like goddamn _Independence Day_. Shit. Mostly, though, he thought about the moment. _That_ moment. When Cas gave in, just didn't care anymore, and everything that made him strong and determined and awe-inspiring just died, a moment before the rest of him could follow.

Dean recalled with perfect clarity the lines of anguish around his eyes. Castiel had screamed his name, and it shook the sky.

He blotted the image from his head a hundred times and kept driving, rubbing at a sore spot on his breastbone and a knot in his neck. Somehow, he felt too old for this.

Eventually, he passed into Ohio and skated along Lake Erie on Route 90 to 77. Then south and east to Bainbridge--a day and a half after Balthazar dropped in uninvited. As he drove into the town proper, Dean gazed at all the residents, milling about, doing their thing. Mothers pushed strollers down the sidewalk, kids ran around at soccer practice, delivery men dropped off cases at the convenience store. It was all pleasantly normal, for a town that almost got Urieled off the map. Dean wound his way to the park like he'd lived there his whole life and parked in the shade.

For a moment, he just sat, watching a girl climb up the jungle gym and then fling herself down the slide with a laugh. This was the joy they'd carved a place for, barricaded with blood and bone against the darkness. Watching her should have made him smile, but somehow it was too small a thing to fill the vast emptiness he'd become. It echoed, a drop in a well, highlighting his edges. Dean rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest absently and then got out. The fresh air hit him like the touch of a ghost, like the world was just a little too real and dug its claws just a little too deep. There was a reason he swaddled himself in whiskey when things went bad...

Dean drew a breath and let the slight breeze abrade his skin until he went numb. Then he paced over to the benches and saw slowly, deliberately, balancing his elbows on his knees. For a minute, he watched people live their normal lives, with their normal kids, and recalled that for a brief time he'd been one of them. Then he clasped his hands, bowed his head, and prayed.

Sort of.

"Cas. I don't know if you're listening," his throat tightened, "but if you are, come down. No traps. I promise, just--"

"Dean."

Dean's eyes popped open, and he glanced up. Castiel stood on the grass a few yards away, regarding him warily. He looked ready…and tired. Their eyes met, and Dean felt all the betrayal, anger, joy, relief, and ache pulse through him, confused, crossed. He wanted to hug him for being alive, punch him for giving in. He quivered with it, but held, riding the wave of emotion until it ebbed. Eventually, Dean looked away, unsure how much he had just betrayed, and motioned for Cas to sit on the other bench.

"I remember this place," the angel said, taking a seat.

Dean looked over at him and watched as Cas observed the frolicking children. He wondered if he got it—why here. Hoped he did. The tense lines of Castiel’s face faded some, and eventually he looked at Dean, mirroring his pose.

"You called?"

"Yeah..." Dean sighed. He didn't know how to start. Every time he tried a script it went sideways,and nothing came out the way it should have. He licked his lower lip and let his gaze fall soft and unfocused on the ground in front of him. "You lied to me, Cas."

"I know," the angel's voice was low.

"No. No, I don't think you do," Dean said, his own voice growing sharp. "You lied to me about _everything_. About Sam, and the monsters, and the souls, and Crowley, and Eve. _Everything_. For a whole friggin' year!"

"I'm sorry..."

Dean looked over at him. "You coulda told me anytime!" he growled.

Castiel chanced a glance and then sighed, his head sinking lower. "I... was afraid," his words came out a whisper, and Dean studied him, sympathy warring with his outrage.

"Of what?"

"Of this." Cas met his gaze, and Dean felt the radiant blue touch his core. "You haven't been taking it well."

Dean's anger flashed. Hadn't been taking it well?The urge to jump up hit him, but he stayed rooted and flexed his fingers, watching them work. The knot of resentment in his chest tightened, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Did you think I wouldn't help?" He gave Cas a lost, pleading look.

"No, Dean..." The angel sighed and lifted his face toward the sky. "I knew if I asked, you would."

That didn't make any-- "Then why didn't you come!" Dean stared at him, panting a little with anger. Cas's eyes fell shut.

"I did."

"No, you didn't."

"September 13. 2:37 pm. It was 56 degrees out, blue skies, a breeze blowing in from the west," Cas said, and Dean gaped at him. "You were raking leaves." He opened his eyes and turned to pierce Dean with them. "It was the first time I had seen you at peace. I couldn't... put this on your shoulders. Rip that all away."

A sad tenderness threaded through the wound Dean had felt ripped into him, and it made his eyes burn. "You're an idiot," he said gently.

Cas frowned and turned his attention to the ground. "So it would seem," he muttered miserably.

"Cas... How can you know me, everything that I've done and screwed up and still make a deal with a demon? My whole fucked up _life_ is a lesson in not making deals with demons." He should've been angry, but somehow that battery had run low.

Castiel leaned his elbows against his thighs and interlaced his fingers, but he didn't answer. Just scowled at himself and avoided it when Dean tried to make him look over by force of staring.

Fine. Dean sighed everything out and folded over for a second, raking his hands through his hair. He could do this another way. "Got a visit from Balthazar the other day," he said, almost conversationally.

At length, Cas replied, "I didn't send him."

"I know. He, uh. He took us to the future," he said, like that was cool. "Or... what he said was the future. I mean how can we know? But..." Dean swallowed and rubbed a thumb around his palm. "It was one in which Raphael won this war, and... let's just say it wasn't pretty." He glanced over as Castiel let his hands fall and stared down at the grass.

"No, it wouldn't be."

The images beat around Dean's mind, flashing bright burning and awful. "Cas, I saw you die," he said suddenly, and at that the angel looked up at him. "But it-- It wasn't just that," Dean pressed on. "You gave up, man. The angels killed me and you just… gave up." The horror of it, the sadness, and hell yes guilt, swelled, and Dean felt tears sting at his eyes again. But he kept his gaze on Cas, kept them locked together where they couldn't lie or hide anymore. "Why?" he asked at a whisper, voice cracking on the word.

Castiel looked pained. "I've told you before."

"Then tell me again," Dean pressed the words out with force.

Cas averted his eyes for a second, leaving Dean cold, alone, and then looked back. "Because I've done all of this for you."

He'd heard those words before, and hadn’t heardthem. God, how could he have missed? Dean sucked in a breath and shifted uneasily, a cautious, terrified flutter building inside. He stared down at the grass near his feet. "You and Crowley. Super Twins. That's for me?"

"I do what I must."

Dean nodded. "Because that's the future we get if you don't."

"I don't know what you saw, but... If I lose, I die. You die. Everything everyone sacrificed for was for nothing." As Cas's indignant rage rose, his voice hardened. "Raphael ordered me to kneel before him or perish, Dean. And then he knocked me halfway across Heaven to prove how easy that would be."

Dean lifted his head and looked over, a chill shooting down his back. "He's that much stronger than you?"

Castiel huffed a quiet laugh. "Your confidence in my abilities is... charming. And as ill-placed as my pride… Yes, he's that much stronger. I had a day, Dean. A day to save everything we'd done. Crowley showed up with a plan. Raphael would destroy Hell along with Earth, and Crowley wanted a less... final resolution."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Dean muttered.

Castiel heaved a sigh and leaned forward. "So I thought."

"And Raphael's one day deadline?"

For a moment, Cas didn't reply. Dean sat up straighter and looked at him. "Cas."

Another longing, guilty expression passed over the angel's face. "Crowley gave me souls from the pit in order to get away. A loan against our future bounty." He spoke the words with a sulfured tongue.

Dean felt the bottom of his stomach sink, and his skin felt cold. "And if he hadn't, you'd be dead."

Castiel nodded and dropped his gaze to his hands. "If he hadn't, I'd be dead. And whatever Balthazar showed you would have already come to pass."

The gaping, bloody hole through Cas's throat flashed across Dean's vision, and he shrank away from it, hiding his flinch by leaning back on the bench. The breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the trees, and Dean just watched them for a minute. It was all so wrong. Deals with demons. Spying. _Lying_. "You shoulda told me," he said eventually.

"I'm sorry," Cas replied.

There was something of magic in those words. Just hearing them, Dean felt his resentment dialing down, his body uncoiling with cool relief. He sat back. A little boy pushed another on a swing, then ran over to a girl waiting her turn and pushed her, too. He trotted between them, launching them forward, back and forth, back and forth, without rest.

"Are you--" "I can't--"

They spoke at once, and with a look Dean told Cas to go on. The angel looked unsure. "I can't break this deal, Dean. There is no alternative."

"Or maybe you just haven't thought of it."

Cas held his gaze for a second and then nodded. "Maybe. But until that changes, Purgatory is the answer."

Dean sat up straighter, a warm spark of hope kindling in his chest. "Then we'll change it."

"Dean..." Castiel started to shake his head.

"No. Cas, you need a Plan B, so I'm gonna get you a Plan B." He got to his feet and moved to stand over his companion, who looked up at him with something like hope. "This Crowley thing? It isn't permanent."

"You don't know that," the angel replied, his eyes wide and earnest.

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Never let that stop me before." It won him a silent huff of amusement. He slid onto the bench next to Cas, so their legs touched. "And Raphael is _not_ gonna do that to you."

The angel didn't answer.

Dean sat back, nervous to be so close after what Cas had said, what he finally understood. He searched for something to do, something…

After a second, he bumped Castiel's knee with his own. Cas turned a questioning look at him but didn’t move. "Do it back," Dean told him.

After a moment's contemplation, Castiel knocked his leg against Dean's, making both their bodies sway.

Dean chuckled lightly, but stopped before the sorrow could find its way in. His stomach fluttered, tumbled, and he looked for direction in the slight shift in expression that touched Castiel’s mouth. Dean swallowed hard against the memories and uncertainty. _Don’t love me_ , he wanted to say, a warning that the world deserved. Instead, he sought Castiel’s impossible gaze and held it, even as the fluttering burst frantic. He lifted a hand and placed a few fingers against the angel’s cheek, holding him there. Here. The reaction was nearly instant. Cas relaxed, as though all his defenses lowered their shields, all his worries and wars had been won. His eyes fell shut, eyelashes dark against his skin, and he pressed, ever so lightly, into the touch.

The bubble of emotion building in Dean’s throat stretched to a thin film and finally popped, so his words came out thick with saliva. “Don’t you die on me,” he said.

Castiel opened his eyes, burning blue, and did not try to reply.

 


End file.
